Am I too heavy after all?
We come to a stand in front of a white Tesla, and I look up at Oliver while he gazes down at me, his eyes flickering between mine.
They’re so damn beautiful.
I’m grateful that he can’t keep eye contact most of the time because if he did, I’d be a blubbering mess.
Misha opens the back door while Oliver sets me down inside. He comes around the car to sit next to me in the back seat, and I give him a small smile and whisper, “Thank you.”
He nods while looking at his hands in his lap, and all I can do is wonder if I’ve made him uncomfortable again.
Grey slides into the driver’s seat with his usual scowl as he looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Why did they let you go when you still don’t feel well?” he asks, pushing the engine’s start button.
“Dismissed myself,” I admit, feeling foolish under his scrutinizing gaze.
“Why?” Grey’s voice is curious, not accusing.
Why do you care?
“Because I need to get back to work,” I lie smoothly, omitting that I couldn’t bear to spend another minute alone in that sterile hospital room.
“No, you don’t. We told Langley and HR that we’d be working from home this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow, too, depending on how you feel,” Misha chimes in from the passenger seat.
I glance at Oliver beside me. His hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles white as if he’s holding himself back from something.
But from what?
“Why would you do that?” I ask, puzzled. “I get that I probably shouldn’t be working, but you can. And why are you even here?”
I really don’t understand why they came all the way over to wait for me.
As we drive off, I glance out the window, noticing the long shadows stretching across the pavement. The sunlight is diffused now, tinged with the golden hues of late afternoon. They must have been waiting for me for quite a while.
“As if we would let you be alone after I almost killed you,” Misha says from the passenger seat with a grimace, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
Ah.Guilt. That’s what this is.
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.I did. I should have checked. I usually do before I eat anything from the cafeteria.”
Just not today. I’d been too distracted by their easy company, but to be fair, how could I not be?
“I should have asked you if you had allergies,” Misha admits, his voice heavy with guilt, so heavy it’s almost tangible, making me ache to lighten the mood.
“Sure, because that’s what you do when you take a woman out to lunch. You check if she can get killed by nuts.”
Misha swivels in his seat to face me, his grin wide. “Oh, so this was a date, Amelia? It’s the first date I’ve had that ended in an ER visit. You’ve definitely thrown off my average.”
Oh my God.
A blush warms my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to suggest it was a date, and now I’m too flustered to find the words to clarify. Misha laughs heartily before his eyes drift over to Oliver, instantly sobering as he turns away, facing forward once more.
The rest of the drive home is filled with only “Nuvole Bianche” by Ludovico Einaudi playing faintly in the background.
No wonder Jamie has good taste when Grey is the one programming him.
“I love this piece,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone, but I catch Grey glancing at me in the rearview mirror again.
We arrive at our building, and of course, they are one of the few with a garage parking space. Oliver rushes to open the car door for me, offering his hand to help me step out.
